How the Mayans did it
by Werewolf777
Summary: Revenge can be sweet even after a seventeen year wait, Lord Voldemort knows, certainly he does. Warnings: Rape, Gruesome torture, Slight NonCon, Slash, and what you may consider OOCness.


Summary:Revenge can be sweet even after a seventeen year wait, Lord Voldemort knows, certainly he does. Warnings: Rape, Gruesome torture, Slight NonCon, Slash, and what you may consider OOCness.

Rated M  
Warnings: Rape, Gruesome torture, Slight Non-Con, Slash, and what you may consider OOC-ness.  
Now I had to do a lot of research, so please excuse me if the information in this story is a bit off, but I checked references, and I'm pretty sure this was how it was done. Some of it, I will be adding myself. If you feel the need to correct me on methods, don't. Unless of course it's constructive criticism.  
Enjoy.

HOW THE MAYANS DID IT

He was awoken by water. He was not brought from unconsiousness by a spell. There would be none of that. Absolutely none. His death would be of pure muggle technique, for he is worthy of nothing higher.

His eyes flutter open. They grow wide with awareness. How I have longed to see this moment. There is no escape this time. The only escape is death. And it will be me who has the power to grant it.

The boy is spread like a star on a table made of ancient looking limestone. He is naked, revealing a scrawny childish form that is usually hidden under very large, unfit clothing. He is wearing his glasses. I want him to witness this. Every single second of this. I want this boy screaming in agony as I did years ago. He will feel the humiliation and pain I did. Nobody but myself is here to save him.

As ridiculous as it may seem, I have actually rehearsed words in my head. I have had an awful long time to think of words fit to say to this disease in his final moments. I remember a long time span of thirteen dark years where it seemed it was all I would think about. I do not plan on repeating any lines I have come up with. I plan to just, play it by ear, as the Muggles say. And although I depise Muggle sayings, those despicable creatures are almost the theme tonight.

He has finally realized it is me. I watch with mirth as he struggles to find words to say. Did he not expect this day to come? Did he not rehearse as I did? Such a boy needs punishment. That is what I plan to deliver.

I am curious to see how he will act in his final moments. Cynical? Maybe he will be cheerful his pathetic life is coming to an end. He is, after all, quite an unusual boy.

He does not speak. He does not light up with happiness, but almost seems to deflate. The youth looks a pitiful state as his eyes begin to redden. Is Harry Potter on the verge of tears already? I almost swell with pride of my intimidating power. I have not yet done anything. Maybe it is just the fact Potter knows I control his fate.

I wish him to say something, for I myself am somewhat lost in the silence. Years of thinking of speech for this day have desolved, and I find myself waiting for him to make the first move. Anything at all. An act of rebellion? A cry for mercy?

Finally, he looks into my eyes. I see shining tears on his face and then hear his whispered words," Well, get on with it then."

He knows he will die. He is ready for it, and it almost makes me want to keep him alive. Of all the possibilites for this day to turn out, I feel almost as if he has the advantage, and it is me strapped to the table. I must turn his mood around.

"Are you eager for death, Potter? Do you wish for it now? Is there still an ounce of hope for rescue in the depths of you mind?" And those are my first words I say, and so now, the evening begins.

He says nothing, but lets his head fall to the side.

I hope I can rile him with my words. If the night in the graveyard two and a half years ago proved anything, I know he will not die without attempting a show of bravery and pride. I picked up a small knife and circled him.

"Can you tell me the defination of 'Hate', Potter?" I wait, but only silence meets my call. "One defination happens to be 'Extreme dislike'. Now, I find that a bit petty. My feeling for you is stronger than that. So I considered loathing. Extreme disgust doesn't seem to cut it either. Not detestation, and scorn doesn't hold it either. Nothing does. What do you do when words can not define something, Potter? You use actions."

And perhaps he did not see it coming for when I slid the silver dagger down his ankle, he cried out in agony. A red line of blood trickled down his ghostly skin.

"Are you familiar with history, Potter? Non-wizarding, that is. I am sure you are not so smart. There was once an ancient civilization, a very advanced one at that"-

"I don't want a history lesson in my final moments, Voldemort." Had I not remembered magic was not to be used, I almost crucioed him for such disrespect. Instead, I caught the boy by his throat and enjoyed watching him gasp for air he did not deserve.

When I released him, I continued, "They were a sacraficial culture, as well as polytheistic. I have deemed you unworthy of a Wizards death. I suppose I'll be showing you how the Mayans did it."

He looked at me bewildered. "You picked a theme for my death-day party? Are there presents too? And little hats? Where's yours?"

This is what I have waited for. A chance to squash his pride. To stomp upon any bit of dignity he still has and make it weak. I smiled, and I suppose it was frightening, for he seemed to falter in his act.

I'll start small, blood-letting was a first step. Blood was of high importance in the sacraficial rituals to their multiple Gods. I made small incisions on his body, and I even took the time to carve upon his body something for future reference.

Even though he was grimacing in pain, he urged me further, and tested me. "Well I could have done that myself!" he grumbled, and it was then I noticed the self mutilation of his arm. He had cut himself on his own time somewhere in the past. He was an overdramatic boy, and that was all I could think.

Silently, I picked up from a tray a string covered with horribly sharp thorns. Each edge was wide and ready to pierce. With it, I retrieved a pair of metal tweezers, and a large metal strap. He looked confused, and struggled as I held his head down and placed the metal over it to hold his head in place. Seeing the next implements in line, he looked truly scared, but not yet how I wanted him.

The youth tried to turn his head as I plunged the tweezers into his mouth and succsessfully found his tongue. I heald it taut, and he cried out. For a moment, I expected the boy to beg me to stop. I even think that he knew I was thinking that.

In one swift movement I poked the string through his pink, petite tongue. I wove it through, tugging it along, widening the hole as the thorns came through. He had not yet screamed. With one final pull, I tore the string out and released his tonuge from my hold.

I thought I would like a picture at the sight of the teenager. Blood seeped from his closed mouth as he tried to soothe his tongue by rubbing it along his gums.  
I took the bloodied string and tied it around his neck so that the thorns poked little holes into his flesh. I also made sure to release his head from the metal grip.  
Without any tools, I next took to ripping out his nails, and pouring salt on each stringy yellow section. I was only too joyful to be able to do this all with my own hands. All without the works of knives or wands.

The pre-sacraficial torture seemed to short for me, so I am happy to say I have methods of my own to use as well. And then, I'll resume back to the more final parts of the Mayan bit. What I would like to save for last before I do anything else.

I took some time to enjoy this moment, this room that was lit by candles, and a dim 40 watt bulb that flickered. I liked the effect it left on the walls. And I like the effect it placed on me, to Potter.

With fire I charred the tips of his fingers, and with pins I punctered his skin even more. I shoved thirteen black pins into his navel, and yet, he did not scream. But I knew what would. I knew so many different things that would.

And so to get what I wanted, I shedded my robe and straddled him. He was not quite yet realizing my intentions until I leaned so close to him that our foreheads almost touched. I could tell that he was disgusted with my snakish face, and yet, so frightened by it all the same.

He spoke, for even with his injured tongue, he could do so in a feeble way,"Get off me." I think he would not have said that if he thought it was pain I was about to inforce on him, but I must admit, the boy is not so slow.

I smirked, and now louder, he repeated, "Get off of me!" His body writhed under me in a futile attempt to make me fall away. With my right hand, I hold the boys face firm by his cheeks, and that's when I started to see true innocence creep into his eyes. Any women with her maternal instincts would swoon over Harry Potter now. The fear he held possesed something I did not see before. Harry Potter was a virgin.

How I did not know, I have no clue. I had probably just never considered the thought. But now an idea sprouted. Do I leave him a virgin before death, or do I bring him the ultimate humiliation?

I decide to kiss him. He shrieks and wiggles but nothing stops me. My tongue pervades him without welcome, and I taste his blood, which is also mine. It is metallic, and I love the taste. I find myself not able to get enough of it and when I release myself from the boy, I only allow a quick breath before I am upon him again. He does not bite me, for I think he is in fear of accidentally biting his own tongue and hurting himself further. I twist my hand through his hair, petting each strand, as I stop the kiss to look at him.

His lower lip is trembling and he looks up at me almost as if I betrayed him. As if there was an unspoken, unwritten agreement between the two of us that this would never happen.

"Are you a virgin, Harry?" I ask the teenager, but I already know the answer. I already know he is about to lie.

"No." Potter answers meekly. But he is, for it is written all over him.

"Then who, may I ask, had the pleasure of taking your virginity from you?"

At this, the boy pauses. I think he is considering whether to go further into his lie or deny me the knowlege.

I speak for him. "You are a virgin, Harry, do not lie to me, for I can sort out the liars from the honest."

He looks embarresed to be caught in his lie, but soon he is asking, "W-why do you want to know?" I know he is afraid of how I might answer.

So I toy with him. "Why do you think?"

I did not think he would answer, but he stutters, "Y-you want to"- he stops, for he is sobbing too hard to continue. I kiss his tears from his pale cheeks.

Tormenting him further, I question him, feining ignorance, "What do I want, Harry?"

"You want to r-rape me." He states, for it is now a fact, I want to take what will never be his again. He can never get it back.

"I don't just want that. I want you to experience the torture, pain, and humiliation I suffered. I want you screaming and I want to be the cause." I spoke with anger now.

"I was a child! An infant! Do you think I meant to do anything? I was a child!" He shouted as though to convince me to stop this.

"You still are a child. A foolish one at that." He seemed offended at my murmured response.

He cast his gaze to the wall. "With my experience, I am no more a child then you are." And suddenly he seems much older. Not the simpleminded kid I've been out to kill for years.

"What experience is this, Potter?"

"Well, you know, there's been some crazy sadist out to kill me for the past seventeen years of my life and"-

For the second time, I catch him by the throat and say to him with a menacing glare, "Do not even pretend to think you have the mind of an adult, and the past of an old mans. You could not endure what some of us have had a lifetime to go through." His suprise by my sudden outburst shows.

And again, I feel he has the advantage, that I have lost my intimidating presence. That if I were to enter him right now, he would only pout. I search for a way to rile him.

"Potter, why wont you join me?" A spur of the moment question.

"You haven't asked for so long..." He trails off. Is he seriously thinking about this?

"And if I ask now?"

"Are you kidding me? Never in all seven Hells would I ever join scum like you! Do you not understand you are a hypocrite to your cause? Killing off all muggles will shorten the worlds population to an alarming rate! Only someone as insane as you could"-

I curse myself for being so spontaneous this night. I entered him. And I got what I had so dearly wanted. He screamed, and it was beautiful to me. Sweet music and the sound of childs laughter pleases most beings, but I do believe I will never find anything more pleasing than Harry James Potter's screams.

I thrust and tear, and he sobs, and screams, his dignity stomped upon, and his pride squashed. Crimson liquid flows from under us and drips from the table and makes a sound onto the floor as though it was rain on a shingled roof.

I wonder if rape victims ever wish for sex again. After the first encounter, what would be more traumatizing than to relive the memories. I am somewhat saddened to know Harry Potter will never again be able to think of me at the mention of making love.

My hands roam his body, and my nails bring red welts down his shoulders. I grin at him, at his tormented face and stop for a moment to bask in my glory. He has that look of betrayal again. One look at him makes me the most powerful being on earth.

"Please," he whispers shakily. "take it out. Please, I'm begging." I know it takes a lot from him to say these words to me.

"God's grace and mercy is a free gift." I Thrust again, and he shrieks in misery. "But it's a high price from Lord Voldemort. I'm sure you can find a way to earn it."  
And he sure found the way.

He mumbled something I could not hear, and then, at another painful thrust, he begged, "Master, please! Master! Forgive me of my deeds! Please! Stop, Master!"

As I said, the boy is not slow, and so at his wish I slid out of him. He look so relieved. He would not look at me, but cry and wallow in self-pity as I patted his head, carresed his face. "Was that so hard?" I asked.

"Go to hell, Bastard." I made a fake move to enter him again, and he cried for forgivness. How could I go to Hell now when I was already in a pure, warped heaven of my own?

"But it is really time to get going, Harry. Do you know what the Mayans did next?"

"No," he whimpered, truly horrified.

I picked up the silver dagger and went over to grip his hand, and that too, I began to pet. And then I swung the knife down on his thumb. "They chopped." His fore-finger fell to the floor, and he screamed at that too. "Off." His middle finger fell to the floor. "Their." Gone was his ring finger. "Fingers." And his pinky too. I proceeded to do the rest of the fingers and toes. His cries mixed with my laughter. I was going to finish this. And I was going to kill this burden that I've carried for what seemed an eternity.

I traced the welts I left on him. "Master, PLEASE!" He pleaded louder as though afraid I could not hear.

I put the knife just below his shoulder. I would cut through the bone, the veins, and the muscle, and it still wouldn't measure up to the pain I had felt. I sawed through his left arm, all the while ignoring the pleas for it to stop.

On his last limb left, he was weak, and more quiet, but all the while still begging. I snarled, "Don't you realize that wont get you anywhere! I intend on killing you tonight!"

He sobbed, "Lord, what have I done to deserve this? If you are watching, reserve me a place in Heaven, I beg you!"

"Did you know the dismemberment of the sexual organ was the second to last step? You've almost reached death, Potter. You're so close, I'm sure you can see the white light, or even the fires of hell!"

He howled in anguish as I sawed off the limp organ. He was loosing blood fast, and I did not want him to die before I completed everything.

"Can you smell death, Potter? I'm curious, can you just sense it in the air? Do you have any last words?"

"I swear to God, I'll be back. Mercy will be an even higher price from me, Tom Marvolo Riddle, just you wait and see. I'm coming for you." He spoke these words visciously and I wondered if they held any truth behind them.

"Til then Potter," And I did it. I rip out his beating heart, and held it near to me.

Comprehension dawned on me. I killed Harry Potter. I killed Harry Potter. And suddenly I wanted the whole world to know.

Tommorow by Hogwarts gates, there would be Harry Potter, dead, with all his limbs sewn back into place, without magic. All without it. I looked back at the youth. I could not help but shudder as I saw the smirk on his face. His last words suddenly came to mind.

I squeezed the heart in my hand, causing the fluids within to spill over my skin. I had performed a sacraficial ritual. But to what God? None, I decide. I am my own God, and I will take this as my own pleasure.

---

Well, enjoy, I suppose. Mind you, this was not really betaed, so I apologize for mistakes...Review if you'd like, though this isn't a story I'm really proud of... 


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